


The Ballad of a Man and a Wolf

by A_Touch_Of_Insanity



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (is it mutual? read and discover), Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Falling In Love, Fix some things and make others worse, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Touch_Of_Insanity/pseuds/A_Touch_Of_Insanity
Summary: What if Geralt had agreed to go with Jaskier to the coast?A story in which Jaskier pines for something he thinks he cannot have but it is perhaps not up to him how this song will end.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 623





	The Ballad of a Man and a Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Ok first off apologies in advance if I get anything about the Witcher lore wrong- I've only watched the series so I'm not 100% with all the background and detail. Try not to mind too much.

_'Stood wolf waiting, breath baited and those eyes shine like the sun,_

_Stood man shaking, death awaited, his hand upon his knife,_

_His thoughts ran through the woods, he sighed, and threw away the blade,_

_He dare not harm the beast, no, for that wolf had saved his life.'_

Jaskier sings softly to himself, lute in hand and only a few flickering candles for illumination. The stone he sits on is cool to the touch but dry, sheltered from the harsh winds of the beach. The cave is small, more of a crack in the cliffside than a cavern, and it echoes the strumming of his lute to blanket him in a peaceful tune. He can still hear the waves on the sands outside.

After the events on the mountain: Yennefer, the dragons, all of it, Geralt had been exhausted. And so, exhausted, he agreed to follow Jaskier to the coast so they could rest a while. The mood had been somewhat subdued, Jaskier still sulking from their fight and Geralt being uncharacteristically extra-brooding after leaving Yennefer. Once they reached the shore they travelled North through the small fishing villages they found clinging to clifftops and estuaries. There was not much call for a Witcher in these parts, apparently, so Geralt was of little service to the townsfolk who regarded him a certain wariness common amongst people who have never left the place they were born. Jaskier, on the other hand, was welcomed with open arms; it seems that people starved of anything except fish would kill for some decent music. It did wonders for Jaskier’s mood as he was showeredd with praise and coin and free ale. Some of the goodwill of the villagers was even extended to Geralt, especially when Jaskier sang about all his brave and heroic deeds.

Along a stretch of sand dunes and cliff faces, a days walk from the nearest town, they found an abandoned house. It was small, only one room, but well kept and only recently vacated. The roof was intact, window shutters still on there hinges and the bed in the corner was comfortably full of straw. Since it was nearing evening when they found it, Jaskier had suggested they shelter there for the night and Geralt, after thoroughly searching for anything untoward that might be lurking there, agreed. After a small squabble over who should get to sleep in the bed (which Geralt won with a single glare), they settled down for the night.

The next morning was warm and bright and by the time Jaskier woke up, Geralt had disappeared. Having left some of his stuff behind, it only took Jaskier a few minutes of panicking before he concluded that Geralt must have gone fishing, given that the small boat that had been beside the house was gone. Jaskier spent the day sat atop a sand dune and basking in the sun, idly plucking at his lute as he composed a short melody to accompany some bawdy lyrics he had written the day before. He must have dozed off at some point because he was jolted awake by cold seawater dripping on his face. Geralt was back, with a bucket full of fish and his thin shirt clinging wetly to his torso. Given that the light was already beginning to fade, Jaskier cooked the fish with wild herbs he found growing nearby and they feasted in the doorway of the house, watching the setting of the sun.

They have been staying there for nearly four weeks now.

There was never a conversation about it, never a time when the decision to stay was called into question. They fell into a routine of fishing, foraging and sunsets. Geralt was predictably good at hunting and unexpectedly good at finding tubers and roots to compliment whatever meat or fish was brought in. Jaskier thought he must have found them with his heightened scent but thought better than to compare him to a truffling pig out loud. Jaskier spent most of his time on the dunes, practicing new songs and napping. Sometimes he would go to collect firewood when they were running low, and he always cooked the meals.

Often, when he had finished hunting or sharpening his sword for the day, Geralt would go swimming in the sea. Jaskier tried it once, but it was decidedly too cold by the time the always reaches his calves. Geralt didn’t seem to even feel the cold, stripping down completely and diving into the grey-blue waves. He was sometimes underwater for worryingly long periods of time but he never swam beyond where Jaskier could still see. Whether this was for his own safety or for Jaskier’s benefit was easily determined.

Life, for once, seemed easy. For the most part.

Jaskier himself, despite the sun and the quiet, was too often tense. He had always had a certain fascination, even obsession, with Geralt but recently he has realised that it may be something more than that. It was becoming near impossible for him to even look Geralt in the eye without blushing obscenely and whenever he emerged naked from the sea Jaskier struggled to drag his eyes away. He began to notice how much he craved even the slightest approval when he hurt his hand trying to pick the best quality berries to impress him with after supper, and it has only gotten worse since then.

It is so typical of his luck, Jaskier thinks, that he falls head over heels for him now, when Geralt is in a foul mood and snappy with him at every opportunity. Counting the mean things Geralt has said to him doesn’t seem to help, however, instead just strengthening his resolve to make him happier.

All these feelings he was having were filling his body to bursting and about two weeks ago he couldn’t sleep at all. He lay on the floor, curled up in a blanket, watching the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest, and couldn’t stand it anymore. He left the house as silently as he could and paced up and down the beach, furious at himself and the world. He threw rocks at the sea, shouted into the wind and ran until his feet were numb to the sand. That’s when he found the cave.

The first few nights he just hid there, venting his feelings into the void. Soon after, he had the bright idea to bring along his lute and since then he’s been channeling his feelings in the hope of at least containing them within verse. He hadn’t planned on anyone ever hearing the songs he was writing but it was a comfort to have them and sometimes he would hum the tunes to himself where Geralt could hear. He liked to imagine singing the words aloud just to see what he’d do.

' _The light the moon shone down so bright, it felt just like the day,_

_And white, the beast look'd back and bite its teeth upon his prey._ '

Jaskier has been working on this song almost every night. Most of the others are simple frivolous melodies of little importance but this one he thinks will become something truly great when it’s finished. It’s not done yet, though.

' _It's yellow eyes glint warm and fierce, and fondness grows like weeds,_

_Man follows him until he can't, legs weary_...no, that's not right. Feet? _Feet ready to give in_.

_When at last_ -'

‘I haven’t heard this one before.’

He stands in the entrance of the cave, backlit by the moonlight so that he is all cast in shadow save for the halo of his hair.

‘Geralt!’ Jaskier exclaims in shock and jerks to his feet, pulled up by the sudden rush of dread. ‘Fuck.’ It is all he can think to say, mind racing faster than he can follow. ‘Shit. Fuck. What are you doing here?’

He can see the silhouette of Geralt shrug. ‘I heard you singing.’

‘How?’ Jaskier presses without thinking.

‘I have excellent hearing.’

Damn Witchers and their damn senses. Still, Jaskier is not stupid and he knows Geralt’s limits. No way he could hear him from all the way across the bay, especially when he was playing only for himself. That coupled with Geralt’s slightly sheepish demeanour only lead to one conclusion.

‘Fucking liar. You followed me,’ Jaskier accuses him with an unfamiliar certainty. From Geralt’s following silence and lack of defence he knows he is right. He paces and shakes his head in disbelief that this arrogant prick could just decide to pay him attention when he least needs it. ‘Did you never even consider, for one moment, that when a man chooses to sneak off alone in the night that he maybe does not want to be followed?’

Geralt doesn’t visibly react and that only causes Jaskier’s frustration to grow. Fearing he might do something he’ll regret, he sits back down on the rock facing away from him. He sighs deeply. ‘Unbelievable.’

After a pause, he hears Geralt approach from behind him. ‘Could I hear more of the song?’

‘No.’

Jaskier knows he’s being a pain but for once it is not his fault. Geralt should not have followed him here and now he knows everything.

‘What is it about?’ Geralt continues, clearly not phased by Jaskier’s obvious frustration.

He grits his teeth. Geralt headr him singing, he must know what it’s about; Jaskier’s lyrics are anything but subtle. Which means he’s probably mocking him or maybe just getting confirmation before he leaves in disgust and Jaskier will never see him again. He feels a pang deep inside him at the loss that has not yet happened, wishing more than anything in the world that Geralt will not hate him.

‘It’s about...’ There’s no point being dishonest. ‘A man who falls in love. With a wolf.’

‘A wolf?’ Geralt chuckles. ‘Seems like an odd choice.’

Jaskier rolls his eyes but still turned away from him the effect is somewhat lost. ‘Obviously it’s a metaphor.’

‘For what?’

‘For someone unpredictable. Difficult to communicate with. Dangerous,’ Jaskier explains, making a play at exasperation. In reality it is cathartic to open up about all this nonsense he’s been storing up inside. He has nothing left to lose anymore.

‘You think he’s a threat? The wolf?’ Geralt asks with an odd sort of concern. ‘Does it hurt the man?’

Jaskier gives a limp half-shrug. ‘He sometimes bites.’

‘But the man still loves him?’ Geralt presses further, implications not even masquerading at subtlety.

Jaskier sighs. ‘He does.’

‘Then surely the wolf should be grateful to have such a loyal travel companion?’

‘He should be,’ Jaskier agrees. ‘But he isn’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

Jaskier feels a hand brush the back of his neck in a gesture resembling tenderness and is one again startled to his feet. He had not realised Geralt had moved so close and now, turned to face him, Jaskier can see his whole face illuminated by the candlelight. He is beautiful, of course, but something about his face was peculiar to him.

Geralt takes a step forward, Jaskier takes a step back. Once more and then his back is touching the cool stone wall of the cave. Geralt continues his approach and it dawns on Jaskier that his face looked odd because it was an expression he had never seen on his face before. Desire. Suggestion. Hunger.

Geralt’s pupils were blown wide and it wasn’t just because of the dim lighting.

The sudden realisation of what is about to happen sends a thrill of hope followed by a wave of hurt rushing through him. He holds his hands against the stone to steady himself.

‘No,’ Jaskier shakes his head firmly, momentarily determined in resolve. ‘Geralt, stop. This isn’t right. I don’t want your fucking pity.’

‘It’s not pity,’ he retorts and moves in, placing his hands on the cave wall either side of Jaskier’s head. So close that his vision is almost entirely blocked by the Witcher’s large frame.

‘Well, it’s not love, is it?’ Jaskier protests and tries not to sound heartbroken at saying the words aloud. Geralt pauses, an unknown hesitation.

‘Does it matter?’

Jaskier stares at the ground and tries desperately not to notices how close they are, how it feels like lightning sparking the short distance between their skin. He can feel Geralt’s breath against his face and he is overwhelmed. He knows that if he looks up, he will be lost.

‘Jaskier?’ Geralt says his name with, perhaps genuine, concern. He is asking permission. Jaskier still does not look up, although his hand starts to tremble and twitch. Suddenly their are fingers at his face, touch light against his cheek. ‘What if this is what pleases me?’

Jaskier looks up to meet his eye and gives in to temptation.

They kiss.

Jaskier is the one who lunges forward to join their mouths but Geralt regains control almost immediately, holding his face with both hands to pull him closer. Finally touching those lips was somehow just as thrilling as Jaskier had imagined and he is gasping by the time they part for breath. He grins involuntarily and Geralt smirks back. That smug expression is soon wiped away when Jaskier kisses him again, this time encouraging Geralt’s mouth wider so that his can bite at his lip. It is perhaps less gentle than he had intended.

Geralt flinches and pushes Jaskier backwards hard enough that his head knocks against there wall.

‘Ow!’ Jaskier complains, as Geralt crowds him against the stone.

‘You bit me,’ he shrugs and leans down to lick a stripe along his jaw. Jaskier tries not to shudder.

‘Look, you bit me first,’ he snaps back.

Geralt pulls back and looks momentarily puzzled. When he finally catches up, it is visible on his face.

‘Oh, right, I remember. Metaphorically.’ He makes a noise that seems halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. ‘Bloody bards.’

He moves further down to actively work at Jaskier’s neck, nibbling and lapping at the skin of his throat, below his ear, his collarbone. Jaskier is having to hit his teeth to avoid embarrassing noises. He has grown hard already from mere minutes of over-clothes fondling and tries to conceal it subtly with a quick readjust of his trousers while Geralt is distracted. A hand flashes out to grab his wrist.

Not as subtle as he’d thought, then.

Geralt leans back, still gripping his arm and makes full eye contact. His pupils are blown so wide there is only a slither of gold remaining. Slowly, as if not to startle him, he guides Jaskier’s hand towards his own crotch. He is obviously hard through the tight trousers and the feeling of the hot bulge under his fingers is enough to send Jaskier mad with lust. Geralt wants him.

Jaskier’s hands moves to stimulate Geralt’s cock through the relatively thick material, gentle press his fingers up and down it’s perceived length. Geralt leans back into it and another kiss, pressing close enough to rock himself into Jaskier’s own hardness. Partnering his with a sharp bite to the earlobe is enough to urge a small squeak out of Jaskier. After a short time kissing and rutting, Geralt once again pulls back.

‘I want to try something,’ he says with such sincerity that Jaskier is nearly concerned.

Then Geralt drops to his knees.

‘Oh,’ Jaskier breathes. Geralt reaches to begin untying his breeches before quickly looking up to check he is content with this turn in events. Jaskier nods enthusiastically. ‘Yes. Please.’

Geralt gets to work quickly, undoing the laces with dexterity and reaching in the draw out Jaskier’s cock with his hand. He touches his mouth to the tip and Jaskier is overwhelmed with anticipation. He takes it into his mouth.

Geralt, as it turns out, is actually quite good a sucking a cock. Now Jaskier would have put money on him never having done it before, what with his pride and generally gruff demeanour, but now he thinks he would have lost that bet. In fact, he’s certain because Geralt is using his tongue in all the right ways that require at least some practice. It’s hot and it’s wet and soon Jaskier needs to distract himself before he ends up with an embarrassingly early finish.

He groans and leans back against the cold stone. ‘This is going to make an excellent song.’

Geralt pulls away instantly to stare him down. ‘You will fucking not,’ he growls and somehow Jaskier is more turned on than before.

He reaches down to touch Geralt’s face and giggles to himself. ‘The famous Geralt of Rivia on his knees? It will have all the ladies swooning.’

Geralt’s hand snaps up to grab his and hold it back against the rock. ‘I will not stay on my knees if you continue talking.’

‘About anything? Or just...’ Geralt flares up at him. ‘Okay, I’ll shut up.’

His hand remains pinning Jaskier’s to the stone as he moves back to lapping at the head of his cock. He takes his time to build up a rhythm and the wet slide of his lips sends shivers down Jaskier’s spine. He’s not sure how long he can keep up the pretence of calm when he’s on fire inside. He uses the hand that’s not held immobile to thread his fingers through Geralt’s hair, just resting it without any need to guide him. Geralt has not come off for a breath in quite some time.

Jaskier has to look away because the sight of Geralt on his knees, wild with lust and nearly swallowing down his entire cock is too much to handle alone. He stares off into the distance but to look is too tempting so instead he screws his eyes shut. Even behind them, though, images of Geralt swirl in his mind; fantasies and memories flashing up to further rile him, bringing him closer to the edge. One of those memories sticks quite prominently: Geralt and Yennefer through the window of that newly ruined castle the day the Djinn attacked them.

His eyes snap open and he pushes Geralt gently back away from him. He rocks back on his heels and looks up, frowning in confusion.

‘I...’ Jaskier starts, blushing to ask even as his cock was only moments ago in his mouth. ‘I would also like to try something.’

He sinks to his knees and grins, now at eye level with Geralt. He starts unlacing his clothes which Geralt watches with curiosity, sitting back on his haunches and observing the scene as flesh is bared before him in the dim light. A man of few words, he doesn’t bother asking what is going on, quite content. As he removes the last of his clothes, Geralt notices him grasping something in his hand but cannot see what it is.

Jaskier lunges forward to kiss him again, now tasting like himself in a way that he finds arousing rather than disgusting. He guides Geralt down until he is lying on his back, whereupon he climbs on top. They are still kissing as Jaskier lowers to sit himself on Geralt’s crotch; he can feel the bulge straining against his breeches. Jaskier breaks away.

‘Do you trust me?’ he whispers.

‘Not really,’ Geralt chuckles but stops when he sees the unamused expression on Jaskier’s face. ‘Okay, fine I trust you.’

Jaskier pecks him on the lips. ‘Perfect.’

He then opens the vial he had clutched in his hand with his teeth and pours a generous amount of the substance contained onto his fingers. He then reached those fingers back to his own hole and began to prepare himself.

When he had been coming to the cave all these nights, the activities taking place were perhaps not all that innocent. With the house only being one room there was little space for private activities and so his visits to the cave sometimes included touching himself biting his own hand not to scream Geralt’s name. So he had brought the vial which was filled with an oil he had been told was designed for just such a purpose. It worked wonders, of course, but he can’t help thinking that it might just be common kitchen oil with some added floral herbs.

One finger is easy, he’s used to that much. The second slides in with one a little resistance and he begins to stretch himself by spreading them somewhat apart. He looks down to Geralt who seems a little confused by the proceedings.

_Ah_ , Jaskier thinks smugly, _so he’s sucked a cock before but he’s never fucked a man._

‘You might want to kiss me or something,’ Jaskier suggests. ‘Otherwise this bit might seem a tad dull.’

He continues with his work, tentatively adding a third finger as Geralt sits up to kiss him. His hands roam over Jaskier’s bare chest, catching at his nipple to tweak it a little, eliciting a small squeak. One hand wanders behind him to feel his arse and then brush against the hand currently working it’s way inside him. Jaskier rocks down in response, providing Geralt’s cock with some much needed stimulation. He only responds by gripping onto Jaskier’s arse and pulling him closer to repeat the motion and again until he makes a low groan.

At this point Jaskier now has three finger comfortably inside and is impatient to move on. It’s odd how his own fingers could provide him so much pleasure when alone but now with company he can’t wait to be rid of them. He has something better in mind, after all.

He gestures at Geralt to undo the laces near his crotch, his own hands now being to slick for such fiddly work. Geralt makes short work of it and releases his own cock. It’s fully hard and larger than he had even considered to the point where a brief jolt of anticipation stung his gut. He has come this far, though, and he can never resist a challenge.

Geralt looks up at him with wide eyes as Jaskier takes his cock in hand, feeling it throb beneath his fingers, and carefully guides it towards his hole. It is trickier than Jaskier would have liked to sink down on, what with the cock beneath him seemingly nearly as thick as his wrist. It hurts, he can’t deny, but he grits his teeth and persists until he is fully seated on Geralt’s cock.

‘Fuck!’ Geralt exclaims with a groan, propped up on his elbows so he can better see as his cock enters him completely. Jaskier allows himself a smirk in response before raising and lowering his hips to elicit further moans from the other man.

Within minutes he has grown used to the stretch so that it is no longer acutely painful but merely a present burn. He has stayed hard throughout, probably Geralt’s influence, and now he is gaining stimulation as he thrusts himself. He holds himself steady with hands propped against Geralt’s shoulders and leans down to kiss him, cock smearing on the front of his shirt in the process.

Jaskier thrusts faster, riding him as well as anyone could, his naked legs gripped against Geralt’s clothed thighs. It is not difficult with Geralt’s impressive cock to find that particular spot inside him which has the capability to make him come by itself. The stimulation is intense and he can feel Geralt’s cock twitch and pulse either increasing urgency, while the man himself remains somewhat stoic. Jaskier rolls his hips and revels in the feeling, moaning and braying shamelessly.

_Maybe, if you make him feel good enough, he might fall in love with you,_ an unhelpful voice in his head provides. He tries to dismiss it.

_Maybe he’ll stop being in love with her_ , it continues.

What a jealous and petty thing he is. What a fool to have ever given in to such temptation knowing that he can never be satisfied with just fucking and nothing more.

His rhythm falters, lost in berating himself, and a wave of emotion threatens to crash over him. Luckily Geralt misinterprets this as mere physical exhaustion and uses it as an excuse to flip positions, grabbing Jaskier’s torso and rolling him to the side until he in on his back with Geralt above. ‘My turn,’ he growls and begins rutting into him at a newly revitalised pace.

‘Alright, no need to get competitive,’ Jaskier starts with a laugh and ends with a hiss as Geralt thrusts in just the right way. He continues at that angle and soon Jaskier makes an embarrassing mewling noise and curls his legs to encircle Geralt’s lower back, holding him as close as possible. His naked back scrapes against the stone, his skin cold and body tired but all he can think of is how beautiful Geralt looks when he’s panting and sweating and desperately needy. He reaches out with one hand to touch his handsome face just Geralt reaches out a hand to stroke Jaskier’s cock. They meet eyes, and keep them locked as Geralt thrusts a few times more and then pulls out to spill his seed on the rock beneath.

Jaskier wishes he had stayed inside him.

To his everlasting credit, Geralt barely pauses for a moment to come down from his climax before he is back to work helping Jaskier. Both hands now free, and one slick with come, he sets back to stroking Jaskier’s cock. He climbs on top into a seated position, legs pinning Jaskier near immobile. He rubs his cock with efficacy and deftness, large hands easily wrapping around its girth. The sensations have been intense this night and this is no exception. He thrusts up into the waiting hands and is fizzing with need.

Geralt leans down and, instead of delivering a harsh tongue or near-vicious bite as he would have in the throws of passion, chastely kissed him on the lips. It is short, sweet and soft.

Jaskier closes his eyes and climax runs through him like a charging horse. He comes in powerful splashes across his stomach and Geralt’s hands, shuddering and gasping and on top of the world.

He comes down gently and by the time he’s aware of his surroundings again Geralt is lying beside him rather than on top. He looks over and smiles and Jaskier smiles back. He can feel the sticky mess on his skin cooling in the air of the cave but it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. He rolls on his side and curls up, resting his head on Geralt’s broad chest so that he can feel it rise and fall with each breath. Geralt reaches to hold him a little closer and play with his hair, tucking and twisting it between finger and thumb. If he concentrates he can here the distance thrum of Geralt’s slow heartbeat.

‘How does it end?’ Geralt asks and Jaskier can feel the words vibrate in his chest. ‘The song about the man and the wolf,’ he further clarifies.

Jaskier has to look at his face to check that he is not being teased again but Geralt looks full serious. 'I haven't decided yet.'

He doesn't respond, seemingly lost in thought, and the combination of a warm, post-climax embrace and fingers running through his hair make Jaskier sleepy. Geralt thinks to move the first time he sees Jaskier yawn but can't bare to disturb him. Once he is firmly asleep, and Geralt is beggining to get uncomfortable on the cold stone, he gathers him up into his arms and lifts him as gently as he can. He carries Jaskier across the beach to the house, the man in his arms completely naked save for his own cloak draped over him to shelter from the wind. He also brings the lute, strapped over his shoulder, because he knows if he didn't then Jaskier would worry. 

He settles Jaskier down in the bed, and he briefly wakes up but not fully enough to comprehend his surroundings. Geralt makes sure he is warm and comfortable enoguh before lying down on the floor beside the bed, using Jaskier's makeshift pillow and blanket. He had considered sharing the bed but thought better of it; it really is too small for the both of them and he doesn't want to impose himself on Jaskier like that. Besides, he needs some time to think alone.

After a while he has settled so that his arm is propped up on the mattress, hand flat next to Jaskier's head so that when he wakes up he can be comforted by Geralt's presence. After a while he can still not sleep, Jaskier's ballad is in his head. After a while he has been thinking too much and so he speaks aloud, to himself and softly. 'I think I would like it to have a happy ending.'

A hand moves to rest on top of his and at last he drifts into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Apologies for my terrible songwriting/poetry skills but other than that I hope it was an enjoyable read. Please leave a comment if you feel like it as minor validation is the only way I stay motivated.
> 
> (also can you tell I have no idea how medieval/fantasy clothes work? I have no clue haha)


End file.
